


When In Rome...

by TTMIYH



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Cigars, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Dry Humping, Frottage, Jake Harley Throws His Money Around Like It's Nothing, Kissing, Las Vegas, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Smoking, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18904756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TTMIYH/pseuds/TTMIYH
Summary: "A rollicking good time and an old fashioned boy's weekend. Cigars smoked, brandy drunk and dice rolled. It's time to hit the casinos so hard they don't know what even took them down for the count."





	When In Rome...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oncewewerezombies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/gifts).



"I must admit, I'm not used to flying in such... Luxury." James said, looking out the window, trying not to look like the wistful protagonist of a romantic comedy, watching as the clouds rolled by in their bunny-like wobbles across the afternoon sky. He saw shapes and pipes and mountains, enjoying the waterlogged skyscape's nooks and crevices, forming intricate designs that he liked to imagine were canyons and valleys, perhaps even with cherubic inhabitants frolicking about them. James was very much so a serious businessman, but he never dropped his childhood habit of daydreaming, even when people were trying to talk to him. It was something that he and his son had shared.

"...Treat you right, old chum!" was what he heard when he snapped back to attention, pulling his head off of his chin. Jake Harley's private jet was above first class, call it zeroth if you wanted to, a luxury limousine in the sky, with room for 8 but currently occupied only by three. Jake and James went back a bit - he knew his mother, Jane, as childhood friends, and in an attempt to reconnect, managed to rekindle their friendship in the last years of her life. However, the other fellow, the man kicking his feet up so impolitely onto an unoccupied chair, that person worried James somewhat.

Dirk.

James couldn't tell what he was thinking even if his sunglasses were off, hiding orange eyes that he had only gotten a glimpse of once in the day they had spent together so far. Jake had flown them out separately from their homes to his private island, where they drank and shared tales, and then promised them a weekend beyond compare at the only place weekends beyond compare could be generated - in Viva Las Vegas, as Jake so rip-roaringly announced. For a sprightly 55-year-old, he sure had a pair of lungs on him, and, from what James knew, a mind like a finely honed knife, despite his somewhat bumbling exterior appearance. And if Jake was a finely honed knife, then Dirk was a steel beartrap, ready to snap shut with a snip or a quip or an amusing anecdote regarding him or his younger brother, Dave.

Organizing this was a bit difficult, with children in the picture, but thankfully, schedules aligned to render that issue moot in a way that left everyone satisfied, particularly the parental figures's varying need for babysitting, so to speak. A woman named Roxy, one who both Dirk and Jake spoke very highly of, was willing to pick up the slack, and Jake was all too happy to pay for  _even more plane tickets_. The absolute scale of this man's fortunes baffled James, and to burn through it like this for the son of a childhood friend and... How did Jake and Dirk know each other again?

James figured it would be impolite to ask. Besides, he might get the answer over a glass of gin later.

"Oh, of course. Erm, do you mind repeating yourself, Mr. Harley? I'm afraid to admit I spaced out a bit."

"Worried about the young ones?" Jake asked, leaning forward, swirling a little glass of amber liquid, watching the ice cubes rattle from behind his square frames. "Miss Lalonde is an excellent sitter - one of the best, even. She and I have quite the convoluted history! Mayhaps I'll gab your ear off about it later."

"Mmhmm." was really all James had in response. Dirk pulled some kind of cocky smirk out of nowhere and turned his head away. Jake grabbed his glass and gave it a thoughtful sip.

"Well, as I said, I can understand the perils of fatherhood, especially with the scaffolding of grand-parental guidance knocked astride! So, I figured it was only fair that I treat you right. Help get some of that stress out! Men's night out, so to speak." Jake re-explained, paraphrasing himself. James could tell that it wasn't quite what he had said the first time, but did it really matter too much? Of course not. Worrying about that sort of thing was silly. Why  _was_ he worrying so much? He was saving his hangovers for the hotel and the casinos, so his drug of choice today was a diet Coke, sipped perhaps less thoughtfully than Jake's but more thoughtfully than Dirk, who had chugged all of his beers like a member of a college fraternity. There was no subtlety or interest to the drink besides its alcoholic content, no appreciation for its finer points.

Perhaps he was worried that Dirk would somehow hurt the trip, but despite his brusque behavior, Dirk hadn't shown anything...  _Off_. Or wrong, or actively hostile. Just an aura of strange semi-rudeness that bothered James to his core. He had never encountered someone even remotely like Dirk in his workplace, the way he was dressed so casually for a relatively formal affair, with a graphic tee and slacks, the way he always put his feet up on every surface that would accept them. At some point between saccades, he had grabbed beef jerky from somewhere (it took James several seconds to realize that Dirk's suitcase was suddenly opened), chewed, swallowed, and then it disappeared again, his suitcase closing once more. Sure, James saw Dirk's arms move, and they weren't so fast as to be literally invisible, but it felt that way.

"Doing alright, James?" Jake asked, reaching forward, slightly timidly, towards the Egbert patriarch. That snapped him out of his temporary reverie. On one side of his vision were those enticing, marshmallow clouds to absorb his eyes, and the other side had the mysteriously infuriating Dirk Strider, who he found himself getting angry, no, frustrated at for no particularly good reason. Maybe the fact that he couldn't find a reason was part of the reason? Wanting an excuse to tell him to take his feet off the other chair, even though Jake had instructed them all to "Make yourselves as comfortable as you like!" when the flight began, thereby making James unable to call him out without possibly ruining his comfort. James had more decorum than that. He was a professional. "You look a little wet-behind-the-gills, ho ho!"

James nervously rubbed the back of his head, reaching for a hat that was typically omnipresent but was now set to his side, cursing his muscle memory. He ran his fingers through his hair, tried to consciously relax his shoulders, lean back into the chair, and take a load off. With clouds on one side and Dirk on the other side, the only way he could reasonably direct his eyes without seeming like the kind of rude person to distract himself out of a discussion was forward, towards Jake Harley. "Like I said, I'm not used to flying in this kind of luxury. I suppose I'm still getting used to it, to an extent."

"Ah, that's fair enough! When you soar like this all day in, day out, you tend to tune out how it might be for others! To which, I apologize profusely if it brings you any discomfort. Would you like a beer?" Jake offered, finishing his drink and setting the glass aside. There was a loud crunching sound, as Dirk flattened a beer can against his forehead, as if in response to Jake's offer, turning it into a perfect aluminum disk to set down on his little table. It wasn't like crunching the cans had become a regular occurrence - there were four cans stacked on top of each other, perfectly balanced, and now, the sudden addition of a crushed can leaning on top. Did he do that just to get their attention? Because, if so, consider it gotten, thoroughly.

James stared at Dirk for about five seconds before pulling away, while Jake seemed completely unfazed, getting up to refill his own glass. James reached up to tug on his sleeve, just a bit, urging him back down, his voice low. There was soft jazz playing in the background, which was probably enough to mask his voice, but either way, James didn't quite want Dirk to hear James's line of questioning. It felt embarrassing. "How do you know Dirk again?"

Jake smiled and laughed, James detaching his hand from Jake's shirt. "Oh, that's a story for the bar and the scotch, my friend! Don't worry, though, we'll make sure to give you all the juicy details!" He said, and then disappeared into the little section of the plane where attendants would normally be standing by to offer food and drink and other amenities at a moment's notice.

James's heart dropped when Dirk turned towards him, listening to the distressing sound of the younger man's neck creaking into a crack all the way through. He pushed his sunglasses up and smirked, and James felt thoroughly unprepared for even being in the same plane as this man, much less the same hotel room. "So, you'd like to be brought up-to-date on my mysterious backstory, is that it?" Dirk asked. James thought he was perfectly inscrutable. He was completely unable to tell what Dirk was thinking, or even what the tone in his voice was supposed to represent. Was it intrigue? Amusement? Bemusement? Annoyance? Frustration? Curiosity? Teasingness? It had elements of all of these things but blended in a way that made them all indistinct. James couldn't help but get the feeling that he was inhabiting a plane with two people both very far out of his league, in very different ways.

"I'd like to know how you met someone like Jake Harley, yes," James answered, regaining his composure with a sip of aspartame-fueled soda. At least, temporarily. "Is that an answer you'd be willing to provide me?"

Dirk smiled a little wider now, almost, but not quite, a grin, flashing little snips of teeth. "I might. Later."

* * *

"What a rip-roaring good time, my fellows! Eh? Eh?" Jake cheered with a slightly tipsy little drawl, tugging them along behind him, not with his hands, but with the sheer force of his charisma, like two smaller bubbles stuck inside of a larger one.

The slowly dropping sun and the night's events hadn't done anything to lessen Dirk's mysterious nature - if anything, they intensified it, with the deepening orange-to-red sky framing him from any angle in a way that drew more and more of James's limited reserve of attention. Of course, part of that might've been the two glasses of gin he let himself drink, and no more, since the real bar experience was to come later. James's feet burnt with walking: he was a spry man for his age, but Las Vegas was a very big place, even just within the strip, and taxis only helped so much.

"Do you have any idea how they pulled any of that off?" James asked, an open question to the two of them. They had seen a mentalist act, one who had called James up to the stage and proceeded to read numbers and dates and times off of his mind, and James literally could not fathom how. It wasn't like he was a super skeptical person - he was open to the possibility of magic or psychic powers or whatever being real, but it still felt unbelievable on its head. Reading minds? Preposterous.

Hopefully preposterous. Because he may have had some slightly tipsy thoughts from that first glass that he really wished nobody had read. 

"It's cold reading, James! It's a combination of using statistical details based on your apparent age, manner of dress, and all of that poppycock, combined with some hard-to-lose gambles in his favor to narrow in on an answer from seemingly the blazing blue!" Jake answered with a wild gesticulation, sticking an arm up above his head and letting it trail downwards as the sound of murmuring crowds grew in intensity. After the show, they had gone to a casino, and while Jake played the roulettes and dice, James and Dirk went about a couple of rounds of cards.

A blank check on chips, courtesy of Jake.

James was trounced.

There was always some part of him that he never let go from his childhood, the part of him that really idolized gangsters and sharks and cool, hat-wearing types like that. On some level, that was probably why he still wore trilbies even in the year 2019, despite them being mostly out of fashion (or at least, that was what his son told him - "Dad, you look like an old-timey detective!") - but, suffice to say, just looking the part did not guarantee any level of skill at the card table. Dirk just had an unbeatable poker face and a brain like a calculator, always pulling some kind of little smirk or twitch that egged James on into an unwinnable hand or into folding when Dirk had nothing but crap in his possession.

No matter the card game, James felt like he was constantly being outsmarted by Dirk. Outplayed and outdone. It wasn't embarrassment or resentment welling up inside of him, but a growing sense of intrigue. Just who  _was_ this silent man, who wore fingerless gloves and a baseball cap and pointed shades but had to have been some kind of card genius? The feeling was one of intrigue. Curiosity. He wanted to know more about Dirk, developing into a warm, blooming sense of antsiness, for getting to that promised bar and scotch show. The only thing that would satisfy James, in his own mind, were some answers.

He knew a decent amount about Jake from previous conversations, and his tendency to blabber about himself - his status as a self-made man of technology who made a killing in the dot-com bubble and retired at 35 with enough money to live off stocks for life. He treated everyone he cared for with the same kind of lavish attention as he was treating James right now (did that make James somebody cared for by Mr. Harley, or was this just an extension of courtesy extended to Jane?), although evidently some people were worth both attention and oodles of cash.

And who was James? Well, he was just a salaryman from Washington who lived with his one son, and that was it. And who was Dirk? That was the question of the hour, wasn't it?

How amusingly easy it was to get James invested in a good mystery.

"I say he's legitimately psychic," Dirk said, dismissively waving the opposite arm as the crowd's murmur turned into a relative din. Fremont Street, in all its sunset-soaked brightness, even in the relative chill of winter in Las Vegas, their antepenultimate destination for the night. "I mean, there's, what, 7 billion people alive? You can't tell me that not a single one of them can do something batshit bananas with their head. It's just simple statistics, even a middle schooler could get that one."

"And the odds of that person becoming a mentalist?" James interjected as Jake continued to lead them along.

"Remember, if anyone tries to hand you a trinket or tzotchke, the answer is "No!"." Jake said, turning around, a grin plastered on his face. The energy was infectious, and not just from Jake. There was music and alcohol and definitely weed being smoked out in public, the melange of scents and sensations effectively acting as a one-way portal back to James's college days, at least in a nostalgic sense, rather than a literal one.

"50/50. Either they become one, or they don't." Dirk replied, with as serious of a face as a human being could possibly make. James felt a vein in his forehead twitch.

"That's not how statistics works," James answered as they began to push their way lightly through a crowd. The entertainers and impersonators were out in full force - he could count at least 4 Elvis impersonators from where he stood (including one dressed as an Elf, which made him laugh), three topless women with various kinds of breast coverings, which he looked away from tactfully, and someone performing some kind of... Ritual? James wasn't sure. People zipped overhead on the ziplines, and the lights were overwhelming in their intensity.

"And what gives you the right to say that? Do you have a degree in statistics?"

"No, I have a degree in marketi- Don't deflect from the point, you!" When Dirk laughed, James felt a chill run down his spine. "What about you, what makes  _you_ an authority on the topic?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

* * *

The view from the balcony of Jake's penthouse was incredible. All of Las Vegas glittered and gleamed like diamonds beneath them, stars and neon lights in hunting rifle scattershot across the boulevard. In the distance, a massive Ferris wheel turned and churned, while antlike people went about their nighttime business. The flow of drunkenness was an ebb and a curve, bringing them to sobriety before hitting the bar, one of the ritziest in a town of ritz. All Jake had to do was flash his name on some kind of black card, and the bouncers let him by with no muss or fuss. Jake, too, was a mystery, but not quite as compelling of one as James's number one priority at the moment.

"So... You and Dirk. You never got around to telling me that story." James asked, his head swimming just enough that he didn't care as much about propriety. The taste of cigar smoke, the fanciest he had ever tried, lingered in his mouth, heavy and smog-like on his tongue. The tobacco scents from Jake's pipe, along with something herbal and floral, mixed with James's own puffs of smoke, forming a greyish-blackish mixture that ascended shortly thereafter into the sky above them.

"Oh, well, there's not much of a story to it, I'm afraid to say. I met Dirk some fifteen-odd turns of the sun ago, when he barged his way into Skaianet with nary but a diploma in hand." Jake explained, thoughtfully puffing on his pipe and turning away. The wind was smooth and even, carrying across their back while they sat and lounged.

The bar was lavish, polished, and burnished, with gold and lacquered wood, any craftsman's dream. The bartender was stocked, wall-to-wall with expensive stuff, the kind that James had only ever heard about in articles about "the world's most expensive ale", and other such lists for his consumption over lunch break. They went on a ride, sampling as much as they could reasonably handle (which, for Dirk, was twice as much as either of them combined, apparently - Jake and James had pretty similar limits when it came to inebriation), sips and glasses from every category of liquor. As a parting gift from the owner (a mountain of a man with an ostentatious golden tooth), a packet of cigars, far finer than even the greatest of silks. Beauty in tobacco form.

"Of course, anyone with chutzpah and moxie like that deserved a meeting with the big bad CEO, so, as it turned out, he could pretty much single-handedly replace my entire engineering team." Jake continued, setting his pipe aside on the small table between them. "So we started him on the engineering division and he replaced everyone with robots."

"Did you fire them?" James asked, slightly concerned, taking another languorous puff of smoke from his cigar.

"No, they quit. I assured them all enough money to remain comfortable during the job safari, though." Jake answered. He was interrupted by the sudden sliding open of the glass door behind them, as Dirk stepped out, leaning back on the balcony's lining with a cigarette in hand. His smoke was pitch, pure white, the cigarette in the same hue, like he was smoking a stick of chalk, imbued with a slight, menthol-y, minty-y scent 

"I'm sure they made it out just fine. Finally giving him the lowdown, pops?" Dirk responded, as if he's heard the story be told a thousand times before. There he was, silhouetted against the glowing advertisement of Penn Jilette's libertarian mug. A radiant halo of lights turning him black and white. Suave and cool in the ways that a gentleman couldn't be.

That's what the feeling was, James, you dummy. You're attracted to him.

"Well, he asked! I'm not sure why you were being so coy about it, you rapscallion!" Jake replied with a laugh, giving his knee a good, old-fashioned slap. His eyes opened, James turned to face Jake, watching the way his face crinkled up with each motion of his lips or throat, that scattered array of salt and pepper hair. The mustache! Oh, lord, the mustache. Suddenly, James felt very cornered between these two men - cool, and gentlemanly. For some reason, he felt foolish.

"What can I say? I'm a coy kind of person."

"I'll say! Care for another round of whiskey, my friends?"

James stared in stunned silence before breaking his own lips open into a smile. "Of course."

* * *

And that's how it somehow ended up with James and Dirk sloppily snogging like teenagers on one of the three mattresses available for them to do so upon.

Well, obviously, there were a couple of steps in between, but James couldn't really remember them too well at this point. Jake left the balcony to get some more alcohol, took a suspiciously long time, and Dirk made a snippy comment too much. James asked him a reiteration of Jake's previous question ("Why are you being so snake-y?" was how it came out with the slur of alcohol in his throat like bubbles muffling the noises of a bath), and Dirk said something that James found both infuriating and sexy. They had gotten too close for comfort.

James could smell the menthol on his breath. Minty-y.

The first kiss had been James's, and if you asked him why, he would never tell you, nor would he really be able to even do so if he wanted to. Dirk certainly didn't resist, though: and by didn't resist, James meant that Dirk grabbed him by the hair and pulled him closer. It was refreshingly aggressive, seeming like the first act of outward motion from someone who had been holding back the entire time, and it made James feel like he had won a small victory, finally manage to put a chip in that poker face, even if it was just in body language. It lasted three seconds, before Dirk pushed him away just in time to avoid an awkward line of questioning from Jake.

And now Jake was off taking a shower, and Dirk and James were hungrily sucking face on James's bed. It was an awkward, pedestrian way of putting it, but it was with all of that eagerness and merriment that James had done back in his wilder days, so sucking face felt appropriate. Dirk rolled him over on his back and pinned him down by his shoulderblades, and James rocked up into him, and Dirk groaned, just a bit, a little, light groan.

"You've been holding out on me, Egbert." Dirk teased, quickly regaining his composure, and thus, the upper hand, as his lips moved to kiss and nibble at James's stubbly chin.

"Well, my apologies if it didn't seem like... a convenient time to kiss you... until now-" James spoke between stuttering, fading breaths, his chest filling in and out with air. His hands reached down and grabbed for Dirk's hips, bony and slender, worming his fingers underneath Dirk's slacks and tugging them down sharply, boxers and all. Dirk took it in stride, retaliating by swiping up with his hand, running it from the top of James's pelvis to his neck before grabbing his chin. A moment's silence precluded all of his buttons seeming to spontaneously undo themselves, causing his chest to show up in the scene rather suddenly. Coated in a fine layer of brownish fuzz, a little chubby from years of not keeping up with his own health, it was still something that he was proud of. Various thinkpieces had told him that it was a "Dad Bod", and that sounded just about right.

When Dirk reached down and ran his fingers across the curve of his stomach, down into the space between his hips and his gut, James arched up into him, driving his hand lower. "Antsy, aren't you?" He cooed, cool as a cucumber, not even flinching when Jake stepped out from the bathroom.

James, on the other hand, flinched as fuck.

"Oh ho! Mr. Strider, you devil, you!" Jake announced, grinning like someone who had just struck gold. 

"Whuh-" James replied, interrupted with a kiss, but he jerked away. "Why do you nnnot seem surprised by this?"

James couldn't help but stare - most of Jake's bathrobe was open, hiding just the parts that would've turned it from R to NC-17, a thick layer of body hair hiding a muscular physique just barely showing the signs of age. 

"This wouldn't be the first time the enterprising Mr. Strider has seduced one of our guests. Nor, I assume, will it be the last?" Jake asked, walking over to the doorway leading to the kitchen of the penthouse.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Dirk casually returned, his hand curling around James's cheek. "I do like James a lot, though. I think we should bring him back next season."

"I'm still here!" James half-shouted from beneath Dirk.

"Oh, we're aware," Dirk said, and that shut him up.

"Fair enough! If he's still interested after this little interruption, we can pencil him in for April. Or May, perhaps, if April is too soon. Should I leave you two lovebirds alone, or would you prefer to turn this little moonlit dalliance into a menage a trois?" Jake offered, leaning on the doorway.

James's eyes lit up, and Dirk rolled his eyes. "Is that an option?" James asked. Normally, asking so bluntly ("Please, Mr. Rich Hunky Businessman and Mr. Somewhat Twinky Snark Genius, I would love to be the center of your attention for the remainder of this trip, should you so desire." would be the polite way to put it, and even then, the words would never have left his lungs) would be beyond James, but he was drunk, and horny, and very, very interested in what he was looking at.

"Of course, my good chum!" Jake said, as he shed his bathrobe.

Holy  _fuck_.

* * *

To be pampered like this was the closest a human being could possibly get to divinity, James decided, right then and there. At the onset of their interaction, both James and Dirk quickly finished the removal of their clothing, and now it had become a competition for James's attention, turning him, strangely, into the most important person in a room with a multibillionaire and a genius also inhabiting it.

Jake was a hair shorter than James, and both of them about a head shorter than Dirk, but Jake was stronger than the both of them put together, and his chest made an excellent bedspread for James to be laid down upon, feeling Jake's enormous length pressed against his backside, while Dirk attended to his front. Jake's hands kneaded and worked knots and strain out of the muscles of James's neck, all the while making those cute little comments with all that weird old-timey language he liked using. At some point, the phrase "Pain in the tuchus" came up, and even James knew that one without needing to infer from context clues.

"You sure seem to have a lot of tension, James! What seems to be the matter? Anything Dirk or I could help with?" Jake asked, almost obliviously, like he wasn't also sitting with his dick positioned to ram right into James's ass should the need arise (but James definitely needed more preparation for something like that - this wasn't porn!). But James was beginning to get the idea that part of this might've been some kind of big show. Not that he doubted Jake's authenticity in the way he spoke and acted, but that he was playing it up for the sake of... James? The sake of staying "in character", as if there was a character to drop out of? Somehow, being asked so politely was turning him on even more.

And Dirk, well, Dirk was bolder than Jake in some ways. Like the fact that Dirk was now deepthroating James without a care in the world, like that was the natural thing to do in this sort of situation. Dirk was doing fine moving on his own, lying across James's and Jake's combined lap, twisted a little sideways to face them better. The steady, wet sounds of Dirk's mouth rolling up and down against James's dick provided the same kind of pornographically preposterous punctuation on the whole situation.

"Being a dad takes a lot out of you," James stated simply, and Jake hummed in agreement, giving his neck a big, firm squeeze. James could feel the stress getting worked out of him, before Jake tapped him on the shoulder, enticing him to turn his head around, met by a smoky, alcohol-infused kiss. James's eyes, already half-lidded, drift shut, and Dirk pulled his mouth off of James's dick with a pop, crawling more fully into his lap and beginning to kiss at James's chest. Jake sprung up harder than a rock, gently rolling his hips to rub his cock between James's asscheeks, a tiny drool of precum running down James's back, while Dirk's own length pressed into James's from the somewhat awkward but fully enjoyable contortion of limbs. When Jake rocked forward, grinding his length just a bit against James's asshole, Dirk rolled backward, letting James press forward into him, and then Dirk got his own opportunity to grind up against James.

When Dirk bit down on James's nipple, he let out a keening cry he didn't think he had anywhere in him, interrupting the rhythm that they had built up - not that it took long to get back into it, though. James felt pressure building inside of him, that familiar pressure that he hadn't been able to feel in quite some time, not by himself. It wasn't the same with one person as it was with two, and with three, it was something completely different. Dirk's body was slick with sweat, Jake's hands manhandling the two of them, pressing them together, like he was playing with action figures, forcing them to kiss, but these action figures wanted to kiss anyway. James was worked up with sweat as well, grabbing and groping for purchase across Dirk's skin, needily and hungrily searching for something to hold onto. Their frotting grew more and more frantic, while Jake relaxed behind them, barely moving a muscle, just providing a surface on which they could consummate that initial spark.

James was mildly surprised when they both ended up cumming at the same time, arching up into each other, shooting ropes onto each other's chests and pelvises until they slowed to a drooling trickle. Not that that stopped Dirk from leaving one in another line of hickeys along James's neck, or continuing to rub and roll against him, making more and more of a mess with each passing moment. Jake grabbed hold of them and pulled them around until James was the one lying against the bed now, getting to watch while Jake grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand (when did  _that_ get there?), lubed himself up, and swiftly entered Dirk in about the span of 8 seconds.

Dirk's face screwed up, his eyes rolled into their sockets, and he seemed like he started cumming all over again, spitting more out onto James's chest and dick. For what it was worth, James was not a beast of sexual stamina, but there was definitely something engrossing about watching someone get fucked doggy style literally on top of you. When Dirk made a particularly cute noise, or when James was feeling bold, he grabbed a handful of blonde hair, tugged him down, and kissed his throat. He wasn't sure how he was feeling about hickeys, but kissing was fine. When Jake came, everyone in the room could tell - a loud roar, a tight squeeze of the hands from Dirk, and, obviously, the cum soon leaking out of Dirk's amply lubed asshole and down onto James.

Even with all of that lust working itself out of their system, James couldn't keep himself up for long. The day was exhausting, his head was swimming, and he couldn't keep up with Jake and Dirk's energy, even though he had gotten hard and ready to go again. "I think it's nearing the point of bedtime, is it not?"

Dirk and Jake looked at each other, sharing a "Nah," "Nope!" in their own particular dialects. When they double teamed him, James thought, several times during the whole affair, that having two ravishingly sexy men slobber all over his cock was vanishingly unfair. Then, he blessed his luck, and came on Jake's face.

* * *

"So! Have you heard of "Sterling Brunch", James? It's a brunch buffet, of course, and let me tell you, every item on the menu is absolutely exquisite!" Jake said, taking his morning cigarette with a grin and a smile as the sunlight ran across his bathrobe-coated frame. "Ninety dollars a seat, but that's chump change."

"Unlimited caviar and lobster tail at 10 in the morning. Great." Dirk snipped, slowly extricating himself from James's side with a loud, expressive yawn.

"Well, when in Vegas..." James replied, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms up above his head, hearing his shoulders crack.


End file.
